Re part 4 - Reparation
by BlackFrostWarrior
Summary: A bully at Tim's school causes tragedy for the team. No slash or pairing. Almost definitely AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N: though each part of the series is written so that it might be understandable as a stand-alone story, it's very highly recommended that you read parts 1-3 first so you can enjoy this story to the fullest.**

**The author is aware of their overwhelming use of cheap plot devices and cliches in the Re series, this part especially, but feel absolutely free to point out the things you don't like and the author would be more than happy to add those things to the existing file on their computer which details the things wrong with this series.**

**Thank you for your time and the author hopes you enjoy the story.**

* * *

_Sunday_

_Watchtower_

The sound of failure was the series of blips that composed a short tune which, in essence, meant "Game Over". Kaldur and Nightwing were hanging around the Watchtower in case something happened. Basically, they were on duty, but not doing any actual watching or anything.

And so they were playing video games. Kaldur had been introduced to the concept by Nightwing when he began spending time with the team. He still didn't quite have the knack of it. On the other hand, Nightwing was startlingly proficient at any and all combat simulations, including video games.

The game over noise was meant for Kaldur. Nightwing had once again soundly trounced him with a computer generated character.

"And that is why you are leader, and I am not," Kaldur sighed, sitting back on the couch.

Nightwing flashed him a startled, uneasy glance, then looked at the floor.

"No. It's just an illustration of the difference between you and me," Nightwing replied "even in a game, where your team isn't real and have no lives, you are unwilling to sacrifice them before yourself. In video games, that generally means game over,"

"It is no different in the real world," Kaldur said "you are a good judge when it comes to picking who to send where, and why, not always taking the most dangerous mission for yourself,"

"Sometimes I wish I did," Nightwing admitted.

Kaldur understood the sentiment, but could not agree with it. He had seen firsthand how Nightwing would choose to endanger his team only when absolutely necessary. He had the ability to objectively weigh the value of each member of his team, himself included, and determine a course of action which would most likely preserve the lives of those most important to the mission.

What Kaldur wouldn't give for that objectivity. But he did not possess it. His one concern in battle was defending his friends, even to the cost of the mission. Needless to say, he had been greatly relieved when Nightwing chose to return.

They had never spoken of exactly how leadership had transferred back to him, there had never been an agreement that Kaldur would step down when Nightwing returned. It just happened. Nightwing had grown used to making command decisions in Kaldur's absence, and the others had gotten accustomed to answering to him. Kaldur was just as glad for that.

"So, shall we play again?," Nightwing asked "or are you scared I'll beat you again?,"

"I have no fear of that," Kaldur replied.

Indeed, it was true. He knew Nightwing would beat him. But, in a way, it was almost a confidence booster. Seeing his leader win time and again against all comers, routinely proving his superior strategy against Kaldur and others made him just that much happier that Nightwing was their leader.

* * *

Meanwhile, in another area of the Watchtower, Black Canary was watching Robin and Kid Flash spar. Even though the team now had senior members, she continued her role as combat trainer for them. No one had ever asked her to stop, or offered to take the training over.

Even if they had, she was not certain she would go without a fight. She'd gotten used to working with the kids, watching their skills grow and their fighting styles take shape. She didn't think she could even bring herself to trust anyone else to develop their skills as well as she did. She knew that most of them received training elsewhere, especially the kids like Robin, who had a mentor they regularly went out with. As evidence of that, Robin had arrived at the watchtower with a small cut on his left cheek, proof of some fight he'd been in the night before.

Black Canary wasn't sure she approved of all of Batman's methods. She had not failed to notice that Robin often stood in front of Batman, and initiated the first attack, meaning he was the first to get flattened. Like he was testing for sharks.

On the other hand, Nightwing and Robin and Batgirl were exceptional fighters, which was especially noticeable in the latter two because they were of small size and light build. Nightwing had been small for his age, but filled out nicely and now was nearly the size of The Bat himself.

Kid Flash was circling Robin at a high rate of speed, shouting taunts as he went. Robin stood in the center of the training area, entirely motionless save for his eyes, which were following Kid Flash. He held his staff in front of him as though anticipating some blow which, of course, would never come. It was Kid Flash, after all. His ability was speed, not strength.

The circle Kid Flash ran in became smaller and a substantial wind had sprung up. Then Robin moved. Swiftly for him, but not so much for Kid Flash, who dodged the oncoming staff. But Robin had a plan B, or maybe this was his plan A. The end of the staff touched down on the ground and Robin vaulted with it, coming in behind Kid Flash and catching him in the back of the head with a well-placed boot.

Kid Flash staggered, then spun off, crashing into a wall and then falling over backwards.

Robin crouched, eying him warily in case he planned to get up. Robin was panting, they'd been at it for over an hour under Black Canary's watchful gaze.

"Ow...," Kid Flash sat up, slower than usual, rubbing his head "what happened?,"

"I kicked your butt," Robin replied, flashing him a cheeky grin.

"Then why is it my head that hurts?," Kid Flash asked "what did you even hit me with?. I dodged your silly staff,"

"Thus slowing down enough that Robin could kick you," Black Canary said "sometimes it is better to retaliate than to retreat, if retreating puts you on shakier ground than you were on before,"

"The ground wasn't shaking," Kid Flash muttered, accepting Robin's offered hand and standing up.

"I didn't hit you too hard did I?," Robin asked, partially as a joke, but partly concerned.

"Barely felt a thing," Kid Flash retorted "you're a weakling,"

"So what does that make you?," Robin queried "after all, this weakling just cleaned your clock,"

"That makes me hungry," Kid Flash told him "you only beat me because I need to eat. I'm knocking off for snacks," he brushed past Black Canary, then looked over his shoulder "You coming?,"

"Sure thing," Robin replied, shaking his head and grinning.

Black Canary smiled at the two. She remembered well the first heroes who had gone by the names Robin and Kid Flash. So utterly different, yet somehow exactly the same. She hoped to see their like again and again. And too, she prayed these two would not suffer the fate of those who most recently bore their names.


	2. Chapter 1 - Some Days

_Monday_

_Gotham High_

Some days Tim Drake actually enjoyed school. It could be a welcome distraction from his other life, or provide interest when his night activities became dull. There was even time for naps in some classes, not because they were uninteresting, but because he already knew what they were teaching. As Robin, he had already learned much of things like chemistry, physics, mathematics and so on. He even had a basic understanding of a few foreign languages, including Martian (something they didn't teach in class). English and history were among the only things he didn't have a leg up on. You learned a lot of things on the fly in the superhero business. And you learned well, if you wanted to survive.

Sometimes Tim even feigned confusion, just so he'd seem a little more normal. It wasn't that he was especially brilliant compared with the other kids, it was just that he had more motivation than they did to learn fast, learn well, and remember it for later. Most kids went home at night to play video games. He went out and put his life on the line, facing evil geniuses and major wackos and the occasional purse snatcher as well.

Among those of his own kind, Robin actually felt like something of a dolt. Even aside from members of the Justice League, some of whom had been around so long that they had acquired a ton of knowledge, there were even members of the team who were as junior as he was who still outshone him whenever it came to science stuff.

That made school kind of fun too. He could show off some of his talents, which paled in comparison with the rest of the team, never mind the League itself.

However, this was not one of the days he enjoyed school. It had started in the morning when he caught sight of Darren Lars, a mean tempered bruiser just entering his Junior year. He was already six feet tall and the size of a small tank. Tim had no fear of him. Maybe he could beat up the other kids, but he was no super villain.

However, the guy was a major annoyance, regularly picking on the little guy. One of his favorite pastimes seemed to be picking on Tim because of his name. Tim knew better than to let it get the better of him. After all, in costume the villains made fun of him for being a "little birdy". He was used to it. But that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

Between classes, Darren was generally hanging out in the hallways with his wolf pack, taunting littler kids, whistling at girls and sometimes even being so cliché as to steal lunch money. He'd never tried to take Tim's lunch money, and it was a good thing too.

Tim could take any insult delivered from a distance, but if Darren touched him, or even looked like his was going to... well, Tim refused to think about it. His self defense instincts would kick in, and the guy would be picking gravel out of his teeth for weeks.

The bell rang, releasing the kids from class. The hall flooded with students, all rushing to their next class, whatever that might be. And then it happened.

"Where you goin' in such a hurry, Timmy?," Darren purred, coming up behind him.

His friends laughed, as if Tim's name were terribly funny.

Tim didn't answer and kept walking. To speak to Darren would mean the bully had won some kind of victory. To ignore his existence meant he wasn't worth the trouble even to say "go suck a lemon".

Tim sensed Darren reaching for him before the arm came around his shoulders and yanked him sideways towards the boy's bathroom. Only this saved Darren from a broken arm. If he had surprised Tim as intended, Tim would have grabbed his wrist, swung him around and planted him on the floor. As it was, Tim allowed himself to be propelled into the room.

Twisting, he freed himself from Darren and turned to face the older boy. This was turning into one of those days that reminded him why he'd never have a normal life. Why he didn't even want one. In that moment, he couldn't wait to finish school and be done with this forever.

"Don't ever touch me again," Tim growled warningly.

"Or what?," Darren asked sarcastically "you'll tell the principal?,"

His friends laughed again and one began walking towards Tim menacingly.

"Don't," Tim repeated "I won't tell you again,"

He could take them. All six of them, counting Darren. The question was, did he want to?. If he clobbered them, they might learn a lesson about the difference between size and power. But he would also risk making himself a point of interest. There would be an explanation, of course. Martial arts. He was being raised by Bruce Wayne. Wayne could get him anything he wanted, including advanced training in hand-to-hand combat. However, it would still attract the attention of the school. High school was shaky enough without his beating up the school bullies.

But on the other hand, did he really want to get beaten up by these clowns?. How embarrassing would that be?. Come back home with a bloody nose and try to explain that mere kids did it?. Yeah right. So not happening. There had to be a third option, some kind of middle ground.

Escape perhaps. He looked around. In the bathroom, the only escape was the vent or the door they'd come through. Explaining his ability to pull screws from the vent cover in less than thirty seconds would be harder than beating up Darren and his friends. The door it was.

All of this Tim thought of in the time it took for Darren's friend to cross the five feet to the sinks where Tim stood waiting. He reached out to grab Tim's collar, but Tim had already ducked. Sliding between the bigger boy's legs, he regained his feet and started running.

The others moved to block the door, but that wasn't where he was going just yet. Racing up the nearest wall, Tim did a back flip in the air and landed on the wall of one of the bathroom stalls. He realized his mistake a moment later. Try explaining that feat of agility to the principal. After all, he was no Dick Grayson with a known history as an acrobat. He tried to make his balance on the thin wall appear precarious and a bit unexpected.

Darren and the others looked startled for a moment, then began to advance.

"That won't save you," Darren growled.

"No?. Then how about this," Leaping, flipping forward this time, Tim made it to the door, hitting the knob on the way down to unlatch it and sliding out into the hallway.

Regaining his feet, Tim hurried around the nearest corner and went to his next class.

"He's like a flying squirrel," commented one boy, mouth agape.

"He'll be a road-killed squirrel when I get through with him," Darren retorted angrily.

Tim had just made a fool of him. Nobody made a fool of him. Tim would have to pay.

* * *

If he had been anyone else, Tim might have forgotten about Darren by the end of the day, assumed that one escape would be the end of it. But Tim knew better. He'd embarrassed Darren in front of his friends. They would be waiting for him after school. Evidently they had _some_ brains, as they made no attempt to get back at him before then.

He anticipated being touched before it happened, but this time did not permit the action. He had learned that you never make threats you don't intend to keep and never tell a criminal to do something (or not do it, in this case) unless you can force them to.

Tim ducked and turned to face Darren, sliding his school bag off his shoulder and holding it in his right hand like it was a weapon which, of course, it was. Not that it was designed as such, but anything in the hands of a skilled fighter was a weapon. It was the only thing in arm's reach.

"I don't want to fight you," Tim said honestly "I just want you to leave me alone,"

He should have expected Darren's friends to still be around. Would have, had he credited the bully with the intelligence to surround his foe. As it was, Tim didn't see the hit coming until he heard the sound of air being pushed aside by swift forward motion.

With no time to think, he ducked, whirled and kicked out. His aim was perfect. It had to be. So often his very life depended on it. With a harsh exhalation of breath, the lumbering teenager's forward progress was halted, then reversed as he was thrown back on his rear with a thud.

Darren swore and charged at Tim. Deftly, Tim back rolled out of the danger zone. Darren crashed headlong into the rest of his friends who had gathered around.

Coming to a stop in a low crouched position, Tim again assessed his options. He could fight, with the same consequences as before. He could run, and be made famous for being a coward and get chased around by Darren and his buddies for the rest of the year. Oh yeah, that sounded like a barrel of laughs.

He supposed he could also fight and lose, just make enough of a mark to force Darren to think twice about attacking him again. He liked that option, except for the lose part. To lose meant to die in his reality. Also, trying to explain to Batman how some high schoolers beat him up. Batman would never let him put on the mask again if that happened.

For Darren, the stakes were much higher than before, because there were a lot of kids around, all gawking at the fight which had suddenly broken out in front of their school. Never a teacher around when you need one. Tim felt sure that, should he take the next swing, a teacher would magically appear and cart him off to detention for fighting in school. But if Darren hit him, no teacher would materialize or, if they did, the both of them would get detention. Because that's how school worked. Equal punishment for everybody involved, even if you didn't want to be involved to begin with.

Tim swore under his breath. Even in his normal, boring everyday life, there never seemed to be a right answer these days.

Darren swung at him again, and Tim bent over backwards to avoid it. Palms on the ground, he brought his feet up and into Darren's midsection, tumbling the larger boy over him in the most absurd manner possible. Continuing with the roll, Tim flattened the bully and sprang to his feet.

So how would he explain this?. Gymnastics, probably. After all, he ruled P.E., well maybe not contact sports. Athletic as he was, he still wasn't very big. Slamming into students built like brick walls was not really his thing. He preferred vaulting over tanks, not running into them.

Gasping for air, Darren rolled onto his stomach and picked himself up. Tim was tempted to kick him in the head to make him stay down, but decided against it. Darren's friends were standing and watching now, not sure whether to be amused by their ring leader's defeat or not, but clearly not thrilled about taking further part in this exercise. They probably thought they could pile on and win still, but they didn't have any interest in getting beat up doing it.

"This isn't over," Darren gasped, holding his middle painfully "you'll get yours,"

"I just want to be left alone," Tim said, unclenching his fists as he realized that this round was over.

But in the grand scheme of things, the war had just begun. Tim was officially on Darren's radar now. It was looking like school wouldn't be the break Tim had been hoping for.

* * *

_Wayne Manor_

"Well what else could I have done?," Tim asked, thoroughly exasperated.

Alfred had not failed to notice the dirt on his clothes, nor the tears in the fabric. When Tim had explained, Alfred had insisted that he speak with Bruce as well. Tim wasn't sure why Bruce looked disappointed in him, and at this point he really didn't care. Life sure hadn't been cutting him any breaks lately, and it seemed that Bruce wasn't about to ruin the trend.

Dick, though old enough to live on his own, and certainly capable of it, showed no intention of leaving Wayne Manor in the near future. He was stretched out on the couch, listening to the exchange, a distant look in his dark eyes. Tim wondered if this was a conversation that had been had before, maybe in this very spot with these very people.

"You could have avoided the fight entirely," Bruce said after a long moment "it was unnecessary,"

"Technically," Tim spat, not adding that the reason he hadn't was because of pride.

That wouldn't go over well. _Oh yeah_, he thought, _Bruce would definitely let me off the hook if I said I'd gotten into a fight because of my pride._ Nope, not happening. Besides, Bruce undoubtedly already knew that, especially if he and Dick had had this conversation too.

"As though you never got into a fight before," Dick said, producing a basketball from somewhere and tossing it over his head, catching it on the way down and then throwing it again.

"That's different," Bruce retorted "you stay out of this,"

With a sigh, Dick rolled over and sat up, leaning his arms against the back of the couch so he could face Bruce and Tim. There was still an amused glint in his eyes.

"What's done is done," he said "you always say that we can't change what's been done. So why not let the kid finish it on his own?. Or do you think he needs a hint about what to do next?,"

Tim felt anger rising up in him at the implication, but at the same time he kind of wanted some help. He wasn't keen on just making it up as he went along, since it hadn't gone well so far. But he knew Dick's words were chosen specifically to make Bruce think twice about giving advice.

Tim wasn't sure whether to be grateful or angry with his brother.

"You got yourself into this," Bruce told Tim, pretending not to have heard Dick at all "you get yourself out of it. But be careful, I don't want you getting hurt," he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Tim bit his tongue on a retort he knew better than to make, then turned to Dick.

"You're a lot of help,"

"You're welcome," Dick shot back mildly "and don't you hurt anyone either,"

Tim thought of making an angry remark, but instead left.

Dick watched him go, his humor leaving almost at once. He had not forgotten his own time in school. He remembered liking to be there sometimes, hating it at others. In the end, he was just as glad to be completely free of the prison. He'd considered college, but realized he would have to choose between being on the team and being in school. He had to decide which was more important to him.

One day, Tim would have to make that choice too. But not today. Let him have school while he had it, Dick and Bruce should just stay out of it and let him be. He wouldn't have it for much longer anyway. Which, if Dick's own past was any indication, was just as well.

Before long, Tim wouldn't be able to stand the place, or its people.

People like those they were, like those they worked with, couldn't stand prison, even if it was supposedly voluntary in nature. They would not serve a sentence they didn't deserve. Dick had learned enough to survive in the world, to thrive even. After that, he had no need for those walls or those rules.

He had a set of rules all his own.


	3. Chapter 2 - Stupid

_Tuesday_

_Streets of Gotham_

Robin knew he'd be sleeping in class. He and Batman had been patrolling the city most of the night. Nightwing had declined the invitation to join them, choosing instead to go his own way, or maybe heading to the Watchtower. Who knew?.

Robin was fine with that. It had been awhile since he and Batman had chased around bad guys just the two of them. He liked having a big brother in Nightwing, and it was definitely cool being on the team, but he couldn't help but miss the simple times when he was just Batman's sidekick.

Maybe that was why Nightwing didn't want to go. It seemed like Nightwing couldn't get far enough away from being a sidekick. It was clear his affection for Batman ran as deep as any son for his father, but they also didn't get along very well most of the time.

Robin, for his part, got along with both just fine normally.

"Do you see that?," Robin looked down sharply.

"Looks like a drug pick up," Batman replied.

Robin quickly ran down the list of things they could do. They could put a stop to it here and now. They could follow the recipient and perhaps catch him dealing to others. Or they could follow the delivery vehicle and try to get the big fish. They could also do nothing, see if the process repeated itself. Or...

"You take the package, I'll follow the delivery man," Batman broke into his train of thought.

"Right," Robin looked down.

In his mind, the car suddenly disappeared. It was gone because it didn't matter. Without pausing to think, he dismissed it as irrelevant. That was one of the other things he liked about being a sidekick. The rules were clear and simple: do as your told, be careful, don't make mistakes and, if you have to ask questions, do it after the criminals are bagged.

The car drove off, and Batman went with it. Robin slipped down to a fire escape, following quietly behind his own quarry who was on foot.

It felt good to do this again. Simple, straight forward. Life or death, sure, but no universe in the balance, no need to make decisions based on his team's needs and strengths. It seemed like it had been ages since life had been so simple as it was at the moment.

Just him, his prey, the shadows, and the backpack containing drugs. That was all.

Such a small, utterly comfortable world to be in.

The shadowy figure below moved hurriedly, but continually looked over his shoulder as if he could sense someone watching him. It was a shame such a low-life was gifted with instincts like that, Robin thought. He'd had to learn to be that aware of everything around him.

The man was alert, Robin would give him that. Too alert. Robin sensed the danger a moment before he even knew what it was. Ducking down, he just barely eluded the beam of a powerful flashlight. At the same time, the man had turned completely around and Robin could see the gun in his free hand.

A gun?. Who used bullets nowadays?.

The world Robin existed in suddenly expanded as he heard a noise behind him. Turning, he realized that the man with the backpack full of drugs wasn't alone. He realized this too late to dodge a kick to the ribs. Naturally the guy had a lookout. Anybody that nervous would.

Robin took the thug down in a matter of seconds, and tied him to the nearest immovable object. Seven or eight seconds was too long. He looked down at the alley, but the man with the backpack was gone. Robin hopped a few roofs to look for him, but couldn't relocate him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!. He'd gotten overconfident. He could have paid for it with his life.

When he got back to where the other thug had been, he saw that the ties had been cut and the man was gone. Probably a third man. They were smart, but nowhere near smart enough to have anything more advanced than a pocketknife in their pocket, and Robin had taken that guy's knife.

"I'm never gonna hear the end of this one," Robin told himself ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck.

* * *

_Gotham High_

So far, Tim had spent his day going from class to class, trying not to appear uneasy or in a hurry while at the same time attempting to avoid any place Darren and his friends might be hanging out. He wouldn't be able to avoid them forever though. They'd all be in gym class. It was their favorite class, the only time they were actually allowed to beat up on weaklings, so long as they followed the rules.

Tim wondered if bullies ever became super villains. He supposed probably not. They clearly weren't bright enough to evade the police. They probably just became hired thugs, the kind whose boss ditched them at the first sign of trouble.

Tim thought he was the first to arrive in gym class, but he was wrong. Darren and two of his friends were already there. Tim saw them first and ducked into the showers to avoid being seen. He'd already gotten in trouble for fighting once, and this time he could avoid it. Everybody else would be here soon enough, he could slip in unnoticed easily enough, nobody would even know he'd been hiding.

He had no intention of spying. Until he heard his name. Not the name he'd been born with, his other one. The one he had been in the early hours of the morning before the sun came up.

"Anybody who says Robin's a joke is out of their minds," said one of the boys.

Tim stiffened at once and peered around the corner, barely aware of what had been said or what the implication was. What he saw was the backpack from the night before slung over Darren's shoulder. He wondered if it had the drugs in it still.

"He must have taken me out in fifteen seconds flat," the boy went on.

Tim recognized him as being champion of the wrestling team, or whatever that was called. Not really his thing.

"Less," chimed in another "when I got there, you were already out cold. I had to carry you half a block before you woke up. I was sure the bird would be back,"

"Well, at least he didn't get this," Darren shook the backpack "or we'd have been in real trouble,"

* * *

After gym, Tim gave into his instinct. It was his final class of the day, he was free to leave school. He knew he couldn't leave the backpack with Darren. It was pretty clear the guy was going to sell them to other kids. He couldn't let that happen, even once.

He knew there were probably other things he could do besides what he did. But he was still upset about his failure this morning, and Bruce's disappointment with him. It didn't help remembering the look Dick had given him. That smart-ass, self assured smile that said he knew what Tim should have done, but wasn't about to let him in on the secret. Like it was a private joke.

So as he left, Tim paused by Darren's locker. Opening it, he snatched the backpack from where it was stuffed. His timing was bad, because at that moment Darren came around the corner. Their eyes locked. This time, Tim knew he had something to lose.

Darren might be able to get the drugs back, especially if Tim tried to maintain his cover as a mere high school student with no special training. Or he could call the teacher, say Tim stole his backpack and claim he had no idea how the drugs got there. Then Tim would be in the hot seat for sure.

Already he was kicking himself. Acting on impulse was Kid Flash's thing, not his. He'd been spending entirely too much time with Bart it seemed. He could imagine trying to use that as an excuse when attempting to explain to Bruce why he'd stolen a backpack full of drugs in the middle of the day "it's all Bart's fault!. He wasn't there, I know, but his thought patterns have implanted themselves in my brain!" Oh yeah, that would fly real well.

No, this wasn't Bart's fault. It was Tim's. But he'd done it now, he'd made the bed. Now he had to lie in it. Which meant one thing: run.

"Hey!. Give that back!," Darren shouted.

Instead, Tim took off at top speed. He skidded on the slick floor at corners and smacked into a number of students, who expressed their anger with a variety of comments which he ignored entirely. Out the door, he took the stairs two at a time, looking around for a quick way to disappear.

"Get back here!," he heard Darren shouting behind him as he hightailed it for the parking lot.

Dodging between cars, he put as much distance between himself and Darren as he possibly could. Some part of him wanted to stop, let Darren catch up, then beat the stuffing out of him. He also wanted to drop the backpack, forget the whole thing ever happened, go home. But he'd gone too far for that now. He had the drugs now, he couldn't just give them back.

The squeal of tires forewarned him of a car backing up ahead. He skidded to a stop and saw one of Darren's friends behind the wheel of a pickup. He considered taking the hurdle, but realized that would be even more incriminating than his ability to scale bathroom walls.

He looked over his shoulder to see that Darren had caught up.

"You don't know what you've got," Darren panted "give it back and nobody gets hurt,"

"I do know what I have," Tim retorted sharply "do you?,"

"How do you-," Darren shook his head "it doesn't matter. Just give it back,"

"This is poison you've got," Tim said, shaking the bag "and you're selling it to kids younger and dumber than you are. You realize that you're killing them, don't you?,"

"It's not like that!," Darren protested "you don't know what it's like,"

"I know more than you think," Tim corrected him "which is why I can't let you have it. I can't let you spread this poison through the city. It doesn't just poison your body, Darren. It will destroy your mind too. Haven't you seen how drugs affect people?. Even prescription drugs. This is a lot worse than that,"

"I've gotta have it back," Darren was advancing now, trying to look menacing but in reality desperate, a druggy who knew he wouldn't be getting a fix.

The door of the truck slammed and Tim knew the other boy was coming around now.

"He'll kill us if we don't come back with the money and more customers," Darren was pleading now, still trying to sound tough but failing for once "can't you understand that?,"

"You made your own bed," Tim replied evenly "and so have I. I can't let you have the drugs,"

He quickly shoved past the other boy and sprinted on. Reaching the street, he bounded across to the protests of honking horns and squealing brakes. Darren and his friend didn't dare follow.

Within a minute, Tim had completely disappeared from their sight.

* * *

_Batcave_

"When he told you to handle it, I don't think this is even remotely what he had in mind,"

Nightwing looked at the backpack in Tim's hand with a raised eyebrow. He crossed his arms and looked hard at his younger brother. It hadn't been what he had in mind either.

"That's why you can't tell him. He'd never let me go outside again for as long as I live,"

"I have half a mind to kill you myself," Nightwing shot back, fury flashing in his dark eyes "do you have any idea how stupid that was?,"

"Yes. Yes I do. But I can't change what's happened," Tim replied.

Bruce was attending a social function. Nightwing had been on his way to the watchtower when Tim had come tearing down the stairs and poured out the entire story in the space of a single breath. He'd had to repeat it a few times, with more punctuation, before Nightwing finally gathered the gist of it.

"Now you're using my own words against me," Nightwing shook his head reproachfully.

"Actually, if I heard right, those were Bruce's words and you used them against him last night,"

"Fine. So what do you expect me to do?,"

"I dunno. You're a detective, so detect," Tim tossed Nightwing the backpack "maybe there's some sort of marker on the bag or something that will give you a clue where they came from. You know, since Batman couldn't catch the guy in the black car,"

"You're a detective too, why don't you do it?," Nightwing asked.

"I'm still in training," Tim reminded him "and there's not a whole lot of time,"

"Oh?. Why not?,"

"Well, because... um... Darren kind of... knows I took the backpack," Tim rubbed the back of his neck, thoroughly embarrassed.

"You. Idiot," Nightwing's voice and eyes were cold, and it seemed to Tim that there was no sympathy there, not that he deserved any.

"Alright, I deserved that. But seriously, we've gotta do something, and fast. I got the impression they were supposed to sell the drugs soon and I doubt their supplier is as forgiving as Batman,"

"Alright, alright," Nightwing sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose "you win. But if Bruce finds out, I'm laying all the blame on you. You got that?. This is entirely your fault, I was just talked into it,"

"Sure, sure, fine,"

"Come on. The equipment at the watchtower is better. Also, we're less likely to get caught by Alfred,"

"Point taken,"

* * *

_Watchtower_

"You're telling me you still haven't talked to her?," Nightwing was incredulous.

Robin shook his head shamefully.

"In four months?,"

"She was really mad, okay?,"

Nightwing sighed in a way that suggested Robin was too stupid to even keep breathing on his own.

"When a girl is mad, you give them some space to cool down, yes. But then you try to apologize. Give her flowers. Or, better yet, just say you're sorry," Nightwing said "who knows, she may have forgiven you already and is just waiting for you to say something first,"

"I'm not sure I want her to forgive me," Robin said quietly "I mean... I was a pretty big jerk to her,"

"Yeah well, it won't be good to go on a mission with her if the air isn't clear. Trust me on that,"

"I suppose you would know, wouldn't you?,"

"Shut up," Nightwing tried to look angry, but couldn't hide an amused smile.

It was good to be back to doing what he did best. Things were almost normal, like they hadn't been since... his smile faded and he refocused on the analysis at hand.

"You still think about him a lot, don't you?,"

"Every day," Nightwing replied shortly "It's good you know, to remember. Sometimes it seems like memory is all that makes me get up in the morning,"

Robin nodded, then stood up stiffly.

"Well, I guess there's no time like the present. I'd better get it over with. If she's even here,"

"She's here alright. Why do you think I dragged you to the watchtower with me?,"

"Jerk. You planned it?,"

"Just call it payback for when Batman finds out. And he will. Mark my words: he will,"


	4. Chapter 3 - Downfall

_Wednesday_

_Watchtower_

Robin had gone home to bed hours ago. Nightwing had stuck around on the pretense of continuing his investigation but, in reality, he had an apology of his own to make. He wasn't looking forward to it. Humility was not one of his strong points. Aside from that, he felt that the apology would necessarily be a hollow one, perhaps meaningless even. But it had to be offered, if only to clear his conscience.

He asked the watchtower computer to inform him when Superboy arrived. He didn't know where Superboy was, or what he'd been doing and frankly he didn't care. Superboy had as much right to a life, or nightlife, as any of them.

When the message popped up on screen that Superboy had returned, Nightwing left the terminal he'd been working at. The computer could keep running tests without him for a few minutes.

"We need to talk,"

Superboy didn't look surprised by Nightwing's presence or his words. This wasn't the first time Nightwing and he had conversed privately to clear the air between them. Both of them knew the inherent danger of becoming alienated from one another. During a mission, their lives depended on each other, on their faith that the other would do their job, their trust in their team mates to protect them in times of danger. Even a slight hesitation, the slightest unease, could be lethal.

"I'd like to apologize for keeping secrets from you, from the rest of the team," Nightwing began when they'd returned to the room where he'd been running scans.

He didn't glance at the computer. They were here for privacy, not so he could multitask.

"But I can't," he went on "I've always done what I thought was the right thing. Even if it proved to be the wrong choice in the end, the information I had at the time gave me no other option,"

"It's in your training to be distrustful and secretive," Superboy said, shrugging "and in your nature,"

Nightwing dipped his head, acknowledging this.

"I can't promise it won't happen again, as much as I would like to," Nightwing continued "it's not that I don't trust you,"

"But you don't trust anybody," Superboy interrupted "not even Batman himself,"

Again Nightwing agreed.

"But it's not in the way you might think," Nightwing told him "In a fight, there's no one I trust more. I trust the you, and the team, to get the job done, to finish the mission. To... save the world,"

"Then why do you keep things from us?. Especially those of us who've known you since the beginning?," Superboy asked.

Nightwing thought suddenly of the secret he was keeping, even now, from Batman himself. What would that secret cost him?. Who would get caught in the crossfire of that one?.

"As you said, it's in my nature," Nightwing replied calmly "Why do you think I wear the mask?. Why do you think I go by the name 'Nightwing'?. It's all about secrets, all of it,"

"I suppose that's true, if you look at it that way. But you keep more secrets than anybody I've ever known, including others who wear masks,"

"You were born from a lie," Nightwing said "and so you want the truth. You hate secrets. And I'm sorry, but there will always be secrets I will keep. All my cards will never be on the table,"

"It's all just a game to you, isn't it?," Superboy exploded without warning "different levels, different objectives. You were Robin, now you're Nightwing. What, someday you'll be Batman?. Everything in the world is just a piece to be moved on the board to get you where you want to go. Oh yes, you've grown more serious on the outside, but inside you're still playing games just like you were five years ago,"

"Say that's true, is there anything wrong with it?. If you get killed, game over. If the mission fails, game over. And you know I hate to lose,"

Superboy was momentarily speechless, which gave Nightwing the chance to go on the offensive. But he didn't. That wasn't the point. Not right now.

"I will apologize if it makes you feel better. I was wrong,"

"What difference does it make if you'll just do it again?,"

"I guess it doesn't make any difference at all," Nightwing said quietly, a bit sadly too.

"So are we done here?," Superboy asked.

"I guess so,"

"Good," Superboy turned on his heel and left.

Nightwing sank into a chair, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose. If anything, that had made things worse. Much worse. But it could hardly have gone differently. After all, the apology would have meant nothing had it been accompanied by lies and false assurances.

Superboy would either accept Nightwing as he was or not. Right now, it was looking a lot like not.

* * *

_Gotham High_

Tim managed to avoid Darren on the way into school, and to keep clear of him between classes, though he couldn't entirely ignore the stares of intense loathing he received from Darren and his friends during their classes together. Nor could he completely disregard the body slam one of them hit him with during football practice.

And then, of course, there was after school. The gang was all there as he exited the school, and they shadowed him off the grounds as he walked home. They thought they were being sneaky, or maybe that they were making him nervous, as he had made them that night as Robin. But neither was true. He knew exactly where they were, and also what he could do to them if he had to.

Half a mile from school, Darren cut around and got ahead of Tim. Tim had thought about just disappearing, but then there would be tomorrow too. And the day after that. He couldn't avoid them forever and still stay in school.

When Darren appeared, Tim readied himself to fight, again sliding the backpack off his shoulder.

"Whoa, hey, we don't want trouble," Darren said.

Apparently, he'd finally learned his lesson about trying to take Tim by force. He couldn't lay hand on Tim. Not if Tim didn't want him to. And now he wanted something Tim had, wanted it desperately.

"You should have thought of that before you came after me," Tim retorted sharply "before you started picking on little kids. Before getting involved in drugs,"

"Sure, whatever," Darren dismissed the words immediately "just give the drugs back. I need them. You gotta understand, they'll kill me if I don't come through with the money,"

"Yeah, and none of our parents leave that kinda dough lying around," chimed in another boy.

"You know why I can't give them back," Tim told Darren, ignoring his friends.

"What'll it take, huh?. I mean, you must want something. Come on, man, we can work this out,"

"I want nothing from you. I can't be bought," Tim said.

He shifted his weight, feeling that a fight must now be inevitable.

"Think it over," Darren said, standing aside "I'll talk to you tomorrow, maybe we can work out an arrangement that's beneficial for the both of us. I mean, you'd have gone to the cops if you were really concerned about the drugs, and we both know it,"

_I don't need the police to take care of my problems_, Tim thought. Really, he fully intended to contact them as soon as possible, but not before finding out where the stuff was made. It had to be cut at the source, otherwise it wouldn't get them anywhere.

Tim walked forward until he was even with Darren, then he turned to look the other boy in the eye.

"Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you," Tim told him, voice low "you have no idea how deep you're in. You're drowning, Darren, and I can't save you. Only you can. All I can do is offer you a lifeline. It's up to you to take it,"

"What lifeline!?," Darren demanded.

Tim just looked at him, then walked on, ignoring the question which was shouted after him repeatedly.

* * *

_Watchtower_

"You're still here?," Robin was startled "don't you ever sleep?,"

"Hmm?. I slept for awhile," Nightwing replied, looking up from his most recent series of tests.

"Yeah?. When?," Robin crossed his arms.

"Some of the tests took a few hours to run. I took a nap on the floor,"

"You're as bad as Batman," Robin laughed, shaking his head.

"Well that's just mean," Nightwing retorted "so, you talk to Wonder Girl?,"

"Yeah. You were right. She wasn't mad anymore. She understood stuff was going on and I wasn't really myself,"

"You didn't get defensive did you?," Nightwing asked.

"No," Robin replied honestly "there wasn't anything to defend. There wasn't any good reason for talking to her like I did,"

"Good," Nightwing said "now pull up a chair and take a look at this,"

Robin did as he was instructed, then let out a sharp whistle.

"I might've known," he murmured.

"So you do see what I see," Nightwing sighed "I was afraid the lack of sleep was catching up with me and wanted to be sure,"

"It's Joker's signature formula alright," Robin told him "I guess I wasn't exaggerating when I called it poison,"

"That's sure what I call it," Nightwing agreed "those kids are in even bigger trouble than they realize,"

"No kidding. Turn the city's kids into frozen smiling bodies and make a few bucks doing it. Definitely Joker style," Robin nodded thoughtfully "so how do we play this?,"

"If it were just a random low life, I'd say give the drugs to the police and wait for another drop. But this is Joker, which means he's not in Arkham where he belongs. Which means he's loose on the streets. He'll be coming to find out why he hasn't gotten his money, or his handiwork in the news,"

"Wait, are you suggesting Darren be used as bait?. Batman would skin us both alive for doing that,"

"He'd be the first to tell you that Joker shouldn't be allowed to run on the street for any length of time," Nightwing paused "Keep a close eye on this kid. As Tim in school, Robin outside of it. I'll be nearby. Call if Joker shows,"

"Oh thanks, you're just loaded with helpful ideas,"

"Hey, I'm not the one who started this stupid ball rolling. It's not my fault it's turned out this way,"

"Why not just send Darren to jail?. It's his backpack, his drugs,"

"Are you kidding?. That's the worst place for him right now. Joker's got friends in there. He'd be dead before Friday. After, yes. He's still buying and using illegal substance, and intending to sell it. But we don't want him dead for it,"

"Right. You're the boss,"

_I wish_, Nightwing thought, _you got me into this._

* * *

_Thursday_

_Gotham High_

Tim saw trouble before he even reached the school. Darren was standing alone, looking sick. It didn't look like withdrawal, not really. Tim had seen it often enough in his line of work to recognize the symptoms. But there was still a haunted look in the boy's eyes, a paleness that spoke of not sleeping. Darren looked... well... scared sick.

His buddies were somewhere else, which struck Tim as odd, especially as he knew Darren must be waiting for him. Maybe they were lurking somewhere, but Tim doubted it. More likely they intended to show up after school, when there were fewer people around.

Darren saw Tim and straightened up. He was at the top of the stairs, and Tim declined to climb them while he was standing there. Instead he stopped and looked up at Darren. He couldn't help but feel a bit angry. This boy and his problems were forcing Tim's two worlds together and he didn't like it. On one side he was Tim, the other Robin. There was no middle ground. Except now there was.

And it seemed like he was being forced to give up Tim just so he could do Robin's job. Was this why Nightwing had such a knowing look in his eyes lately?. Was this what Nightwing knew?. That there could be Tim, and there could be Robin, but never both?.

"I told you yesterday," Tim said, looking up at Darren, almost seething "I can't be bought,"

"So you said," Darren replied, stepping carefully down the stairs, taking his time, keeping his eyes on Tim as though afraid the younger boy would melt into the background if he looked away.

Little did he know how entirely real that possibility was.

"It's for your own good, and it makes no difference to me whether you believe it or not," Tim backed up a step or two, preferring distance between them.

There were kids flowing onto the property, though the first bell hadn't yet rung. It would any minute now, and then the confrontation would be over. Except it wouldn't. It would never be over, not even if Joker was caught. Darren would still be mad at him, he would still be on the school bully's radar.

"You made a fool of me the other day," Darren said, almost seeming to purr.

He eased towards Tim like a beast tamer, but Tim wouldn't have any of it, taking a step back for each one Darren took forward. Their eyes were locked, and the rest of the world seemed to have disappeared. Tim's training was kicking in. He probably wouldn't even hear the bell now, because it didn't matter. There was just him and Darren and ten feet of space between them.

"I could forget about that," Darren halted his advance a few feet from the stairs, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets "pretend it never happened. We'd never speak to each other again,"

"Sounds fantastic," Tim replied "except for one thing. I can't give you what you want,"

"Why not?,"

_Because it's poison and, so help me, I want you to live, you jerk!_. But that's not what he said.

"I don't even have it anymore," Tim shrugged indifferently "it's out of my hands,"

"Who did you give it to!?," Darren exploded, starting forward again.

Tim maintained his distance, and his mild demeanor.

_I can't tell you without giving up my identity, something I can't do for the likes of you_, he thought.

"That's none of your business," Tim replied "you can't have it back, so deal with it,"

"I don't believe you," Darren's tone was suddenly dangerous, and little red flags sprang up in Tim's mind as he realized the existing threat.

He should have seen it coming. Just like everything else. It was a mistake which could cost him his life. Tim closed his eyes briefly and lunged backward. At the same time, Darren pulled his right hand from his pocket, revealing the shining silver of a handgun.

Tim had already vanished from sight, but Darren knew he'd still be around.

"Get back here!," Darren fired a shot into the air.

Students screamed, scattering in all directions. The sound had scared Darren, he'd never shot a gun before. But he steeled himself. He'd prepared for this. He had to get the drugs back, he had to. He looked around wildly, but the world had dissolved into chaos.

Then something hit him from behind, hit him hard.

Darren staggered, fell to his knees. A flash of pain in his wrist informed him that whatever hit him was after the gun. He clutched tight to it and used all his strength to turn, cocking the gun as he went. He hadn't intended to kill, just to frighten.

But then it went off.

For a moment, the world went black as he was consumed by terror. Then he opened his eyes. Kids were still running, screaming, stampeding like frightened cattle. All except one.

Lying on his side, blown back by the force of the bullet's impact, was Tim.

* * *

**A/N: It was not in the author's original plan to find new and interesting ways to injure Tim (and, to a lesser extent, Dick) in every part of the story. For instance, in the author's head originally, Tim was never injected in Retribution. In the original version of Reinvention they had in their head, Nightwing never became a dragon. And in Reparation, Tim was never meant to be shot until the author just sort of wrote it in on the spur of the moment and it felt right for the story.**


	5. Chapter 4 - It Doesn't Matter

"God, what have I done?," Darren dropped the gun like it was a rattlesnake.

For a long second, he was motionless as shock began to set in. He wanted to run, but couldn't move. He felt weak and his limbs were rubbery. On the ground there was a pool of blood spreading from the other boy's middle, just below his ribcage. Tim. Bleeding all over the place, eyes glazed with pain, looking at Darren as if in disbelief. But not fear. Never fear.

No matter what Darren did, Tim wasn't afraid of him. Not even a little. Whereas Darren was always consumed by fear of one kind or another. Perhaps that was the difference between them. Why Tim was trying to save his life and he... he'd killed Tim for it.

A choking sound, so soft it was nearly drowned in the sound of the screaming kids, drew Darren back to reality. As he watched, Tim's chest rose and fell slowly, weakly. Just as feebly, his right hand reached into his pocket and withdrew a phone. Without looking, he began pushing buttons.

Darren opened his mouth, instinctively protesting that the police were being called. But then he shut it. It didn't matter now. Only one thing did. Too wobbly to try standing up, Darren dragged himself hands and knees over to where Tim lay.

Eyes dark with pain followed his movement, showing no sign of fear even as he drew closer. Why wasn't Tim afraid of him, even now, after this?.

As proof of the total panic of the school, nobody came forward to help Tim, or to stop Darren now that he was disarmed. Darren stopped when he reached Tim. He remembered vaguely something about putting pressure on a wound, to reduce bleeding maybe?. He didn't know. But there was a lot of blood. And it was everywhere, spreading in an ever wider circle from the point of entry.

"Man, oh man," Darren said over and over, afraid to even touch Tim.

What if he did, and that somehow finished the job he'd started?. Then his eyes locked with Tim. Younger eyes than his, but wise with experience beyond any he could even begin to imagine. He wondered if he looked as foolish and empty-headed as he felt.

"It's okay," Tim's voice was barely audible "you'll be okay now,"

Darren opened his mouth to speak, but his throat constricted and he had to swallow several times.

"Dammit, how can you say that?," he burst out, surprised by his own vehemence under the circumstances "you're bleeding... everywhere,"

Tim seemed to smile, though he evidently didn't have the strength to make the muscles in his face work. His eyes were kind, and without anger at what had been done to him.

"That you care...," he paused to breathe shallowly, then went on "is proof enough,"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?," Darren demanded.

Tim just looked at him quietly. Coughing suddenly, he seemed to shrink into himself for a moment. When he reopened his eyes, they seemed glassy, distant somehow.

"In all this time... I never thought... a bullet... huh... strange," Darren couldn't make heads or tails of this, so instead of answering moved closer and placed his hands on where he guessed the bullet wound had to be.

"Don't die. Please don't die. You can't die. Please," the words tumbled out, Darren didn't even think.

He just said them, over and over as if somehow that could save Tim's life. It had finally hit home. He'd done this. This blood was on his hands.

Something hit him from the side. The impact flung him all the way to the staircase. His head snapped back and clunked against one of the stairs and stars spun through his vision. When he could focus his eyes again, he saw before him a dark figure, whose indigo eyes blazed with hatred.

It was someone Darren didn't know, a kid a few years older than him. The way the older boy knelt beside Tim and administered aid with gentle, experienced hands explained everything.

Everybody knew that Tim Drake was the foster son of Bruce Wayne, as was another boy, Dick Grayson. This had to be Grayson.

"Do you realize what you've done?," the words were spoken with such venomous hatred, passionate loathing, that Darren expected Grayson to kill him here and now.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't mean to... I didn't...," he trailed off helplessly.

In the eyes there was no compassion, no understanding. Only anger, fiercely burning hate. Grayson was trembling with rage. Then he turned his eyes to his adopted brother, his voice turning soft. It sounded like another person entirely. Surely it couldn't be the same voice which had spoken to Darren.

"You'll be alright, Tim," Grayson was saying "we'll get you patched up, you'll see,"

Tim's eyes had been closed, but now opened and he seemed to try to focus on Grayson. Then he looked past his brother to Darren, who lay where he'd fallen, unable to summon the will power to get up and do anything. He knew he should run away, before the police arrived or at least before Grayson killed him. He'd never seen a murderous look in someone's eyes before, but he was sure he'd seen it in Grayson's.

"Save him," Tim whispered, which took Darren by surprise, but not half so much as the next words out of Tim's mouth "save him, Nightwing,"

In a flash, it had all come together. If Grayson was Nightwing, then Wayne was Batman and Tim...

"God, I've shot Robin," Darren said aloud.

The sound of an ambulance siren made them all look up.

"Go. Take him. I'll be fine," Tim breathed.

Grayson's eyes narrowed, then he sprang to his feet. He caught Darren by the jacket, hefting him over his shoulder like it was nothing. He picked up the gun as he took off, and they disappeared into the crowd, then off the grounds, into the streets of Gotham, leaving Tim behind.

* * *

Grayson flung Darren down, slamming him into the wall. Darren sank to the ground, still stunned. Grayson began to pace, the fury of a caged tiger in his movements. It was clear enough that he wanted to kill Darren, and the only thing holding him back was probably what Tim had said.

Grayson's eyes seemed unfocused, like he was miles away in thought, having forgotten where he was and that Darren was even with him. Darren opened his mouth to speak.

"Shut up," Grayson snarled "the next words out of your mouth will be your last,"

The gun was still in his hand, which was gloved. Darren was pretty sure he hadn't have a glove on before taking off, so he must have slipped it on as they were leaving. Darren hadn't even noticed. Abruptly looking disgusted by the gun, Grayson threw it suddenly to the ground, looking as though he'd like to tear it apart.

Grayson was still shaking. Resuming his pacing, his dark eyes lighted with intelligence Darren couldn't comprehend, it was clear Grayson was thinking and trying to control his anger at the same time. It wasn't going well.

Darren wanted to say something. Like how he wouldn't reveal the secret he'd just been inadvertently told. He'd already done more than enough damage. He wanted to say he didn't even want the drugs back anymore, that he just wanted to crawl away and die.

But he didn't want to die badly enough to say anything.

"I've had enough of this," Grayson said suddenly, and Darren was afraid he was going to die here and now, but then Grayson hauled him to his feet, picked up the gun and propelled him forward.

* * *

_Batcave_

"You what!?,"

If Nightwing's rage was terrifying, what word was there left to describe the fury of Batman?. Darren had been blindfolded and dragged into the batcave by Grayson, who had since transformed himself into Nightwing, though the reason for that was unclear.

Batman glared at Nightwing, then Darren, evidently not sure who he was most angry with in this particular instant. Nightwing stared back defiantly.

"What else could I do?," he asked, his own anger not yet spent "he told me to save Darren. To make sure I did it, he even used my name,"

"So now what do you intend to do?," Batman growled.

"That's why I came here. I have no idea where to go from here," Nightwing replied reluctantly, then told the story from the beginning, omitting the part about Superboy and Wonder Girl.

"Robin I can understand," Batman said finally "he's young and impulsive. But you... you know better, Nightwing. Or so I thought,"

"Forget who's to blame for this," Nightwing snapped aggressively "what do we do now?,"

He took a deep breath, then repeated the question, more calmly this time.

"What do we do now?,"

* * *

Batman was gone now. There was just Darren and Nightwing. Darren had crawled into the nearest available chair and sat himself in it. Nightwing sat facing a giant computer monitor, his elbows on the arm rests of his chair and fingers touching at the tips in front of his face.

Nightwing couldn't even bring himself to look at Darren. That Tim would be brought down by this... this juvenile delinquent was somehow even worse than Tim being shot at all. It was an insult to him that someone so stupid and insignificant had been the one to pull the trigger.

Worse, Tim had so recently been virtually invincible. Nightwing too.

They were superheroes. Superheroes don't get killed by bullets. They get disintegrated by some fiendish ray designed by a villain specifically to take them out. They get broken in half by a mutant monster. They go out like a light saving the world. But a bullet?. No. That Nightwing could not accept.

Worse than that even, he'd left Tim behind. Just left him there, not even knowing if he would live or be dead by the time he reached the hospital. He'd been badly wounded, bleeding to death on the ground, and Nightwing had just... left him there.

And for what!?.

Nightwing's body shook as he again realized that he'd been forced to save the very man who shot Tim from jail. That he hadn't already strangled Darren seemed like some kind of miracle to him.

"I don't deserve to live," the sound of the voice brought another tremor of rage.

"Damn right you don't," Nightwing growled, not looking away from the computer.

"So why am I here?. Why not turn me in to the police?. Or even just let me go?. I'm a dead man anyway, since I can't come up with the money,"

"Tim thinks you can still be saved, though frankly I don't see how," Nightwing replied "even after Batman finds the Joker, and he will... there are a lot of people who'll want revenge if Tim dies,"

"Even if he doesn't," Darren guessed.

Nightwing raised his head, biting his tongue between his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the guy. But then, at last, his objectivity kicked in. He looked over at Darren, white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. Someone whose whole world had just blown up in his face.

His doing, of course. He'd destroyed himself. But Nightwing knew that shooting Tim had been an accident. This scared stupid kid was no evil genius. He was just a petty criminal. No, he was just a fool who had destroyed his own life and all the while put the blame for his troubles on other people. Was he at fault?. Yes. Did he deserve to be arrested?. Hell yes. Did he deserve to die?. Probably.

That was the angry part of Nightwing's brain talking. The other part asked a far more relevant question, one upon which all the others hinged.

Would he do it again?. Was he a danger to society?. Would he wind up shooting some other kid in the gut for getting in his way?. No, that seemed most unlikely. Had the answer been yes, Nightwing would have killed him in a heartbeat. He wanted to. He really wanted to.

It seemed like people were always killing members of his family. No matter what he did, he couldn't protect them. He couldn't even take his revenge on those who'd done it. The rules he lived by didn't allow for that. But that didn't mean he didn't want to.

"An apology won't make this right," Nightwing informed him.

"I know," Darren said quietly.

"You have no idea," Nightwing corrected him quietly "destroying yourself was one thing. But when you started to hurt others, it became our business,"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Darren replied "so are you going to kill me?,"

"God knows I want to," Nightwing replied, looking at Darren out of the corner of his eye, then he sighed "but no. When this is all over, you get to go to prison. For possession of the drugs, for intent to sell and for assault,"

"You mean attempted murder," Darren corrected.

"Probably," Nightwing conceded "that's how the justice system tends to work. Call it attempted murder when it's assault, accidental death when it's murder. It's a screwed up world we live in where people who make mistakes rot in jail and murderers go free or, at best, to Arkham so they can escape and start the whole thing over again,"

"So you don't think I meant to kill him?,"

"No," Nightwing admitted heavily, reluctant to even admit it to himself "it was an accident,"

"So... if I hadn't had the gun-,"

"Do not!," Nightwing snarled, eyes flashing "put the blame on the gun!. Without it, you might have tried to beat him up with your bare hands. Wouldn't have worked on Tim, but on some other kid, you might have caused internal bleeding and killed that way. The gun isn't required to kill, people in prison have proven that over and over,"

Darren chewed over this while Nightwing regained control of himself.

"No, you're guilty as hell. Just not of what they'll want to convict you for," Nightwing said.

They were silent for a time, Nightwing returning his attention to the computer screen. There was nothing important there, but he needed the distraction.

"I know it probably doesn't really matter, nobody would believe me anyway... but I won't tell a soul about... you know,"

"You're right," Nightwing grunted "it doesn't matter,"


	6. Chapter 5 - Warning

_Friday_

_Batcave_

Nightwing occupied his time going over old case files, absently searching for a breakthrough. It wasn't a total waste of time, he told himself. Leads could come unexpectedly if you left things alone for awhile. Inevitably however, the trail led to a place he didn't want to go.

The monsters created by the Light, or maybe Lex Luthor alone, at this point he wasn't sure. Unresolved, always with him and Robin at the center of things. Because they were human, but different from other people. Which brought him back to the bullet from the gun. Other people got shot. Ordinary people. Soldiers. Police officers. But not superheroes. Not even sidekicks.

Nightwing glared at the computer monitor and massaged his left temple absently. He'd gone too many hours without sleep, the ache in that side of his head was telling him.

"The hospital called," Nightwing looked up to see Alfred descending the stairs.

"How is he?," Nightwing asked.

"Not well," Alfred spoke mildly, but there was an acid look in his eye when he cast a sideways glance at Darren, who'd fallen asleep in his chair.

"He's a fighter," Nightwing spoke the words, knowing they'd been said so many times before about so many people that they'd lost their meaning long ago.

"Indeed," Alfred replied "any word?,"

"Not since he left," Nightwing sighed "I should have gone with him,"

"Master Bruce can handle himself," Alfred told him.

"That's what my head says," Nightwing said quietly, sighing again.

"You're worried about him?," Alfred seemed moderately surprised.

Nightwing shrugged. He wasn't given to fretting, Alfred knew. Once, perhaps, but not now. And it had been years since Nightwing made it his habit to keep tabs on Batman.

"Sometimes I miss the old days," Nightwing admitted "simple times,"

"You're a little young to be reminiscing," Alfred informed him.

"You get old fast in this game," Nightwing said, then bit his tongue.

A game. Was that really all it was to him?. Maybe so. Already he had left most of his anger at Darren behind, his fear for Tim's life too. Neither of those issues could be resolved right now, and his own feelings would make little difference. Still, was it okay that he didn't feel anything?.

He'd once defended himself to Batgirl, saying he wasn't protective of those around him. It was just as true now as it had been then. When he'd come to Tim's defense, it had been pure instinct, gut reaction. But it was there and gone in an instant. He'd taken Darren with him on a different instinct. It had nothing to do with feeling.

"Something appears to be preoccupying your thoughts," Alfred observed.

"It's nothing," Nightwing shook his head, but when his eyes met Alfred's he was unable to keep from saying something more "it's just something someone told me. About myself. I'm beginning to think they may be right,"

"I see," Alfred said.

"What I don't know is whether or not it's a bad thing," Nightwing told him "I want it to be wrong, but I can't see my way clear to being anything else,"

"We are all what we are, Master Dick," Alfred told him.

Nightwing nodded, but said nothing. Somehow it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it didn't make him feel any differently at all.

* * *

Hours had passed. The sun was up in Gotham now, not that Nightwing had seen it. The local news gave no sign that there had been anything exciting the night before, no hint that Batman or Joker had been active in the dark.

That made Nightwing very uneasy.

At long last, a message appeared on the computer screen.

_"Caught Joker and left for police. Going directly to board meeting"_

Nightwing breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't used to getting a case of nerves, especially over Batman of all the people in the world.

"Well, Darren, looks like you get to go to prison," Nightwing said.

"I deserve worse," Darren told him.

"Maybe so, but I expect you to get out," Nightwing replied "and when you do, you should make something of yourself. Prove you've learned your lesson,"

"So how do we play this?," Darren asked.

Nightwing stood and tossed the unloaded handgun, followed by the clip to Darren.

"You turn yourself in," Nightwing said "you admit everything. And if you don't, I'll be around,"

"You really want to kill me, don't you?,"

"Not anymore," Nightwing replied honestly "I'm past that. But don't think I won't come after you,"

"Even if you wouldn't, I don't see that I have any other choice. I mean, like you said, I'm guilty as hell and deserve whatever I get,"

"We all get what we deserve in the end," Nightwing said dryly.

"What do you suppose Tim saw in me that made him want to save me... even after...," Darren trailed off, standing awkwardly with the gun in one hand and the clip in the other.

"Same thing I do," Nightwing replied "a stupid kid who screwed up his life before he knew what he was destroying. You let yourself turn bad, and pretty soon you forget where the line is and you cross right over from being self-destructive to everybody destructive,"

"How does that make me any different from Joker?,"

"You have the brains to recognize when you've done wrong. And the heart to care. And, I hope, the will to change," Nightwing said.

"And if I don't?,"

"Then I'll hunt you down and kill you," Nightwing was only half-joking.

* * *

_Watchtower_

"What brings you up here in the middle of the day?," Superboy was surprised, to say the least, at seeing Nightwing in the watchtower.

He immediately wondered if there was some crisis he hadn't heard about yet. Nightwing was generally strictly night time. Well, by Gotham's time anyway.

"Just finishing something up," Nightwing replied curtly.

He couldn't believe he'd left the drug sample in the watchtower when he left. He must be really slipping. But this wasn't the last thing he had to do today. He still had to make a visit to his brother. Entering the lab where he'd been working, Nightwing wondered if the news had reached the watchtower. It didn't usually take stuff like that long to get around. Then again, who was there to talk about it?. Unless it made the news. Probably.

"Well?.Or is it a secret?," Superboy asked pointedly.

"No," Nightwing replied distractedly, downloading all the information from the tests to a portable device and putting the samples into a case.

The backpack and the majority of the drugs were now probably in an evidence lockup. Nightwing had watched to make good and sure Darren got himself arrested, hanging around just long enough for Darren to see him and realize he'd make good on his threat if he had to.

"So what's got you so flustered?," Superboy rephrased the question.

"I'm not flustered," Nightwing retorted "I'm tired. There's a difference,"

"Right...,"

"Alright, you really want to know?. I made a stupid mistake that nearly got Tim killed. He's lying in a hospital bed by himself because I was too dumb to protect him. Okay?. Happy now?,"

Superboy looked taken aback. Nightwing's explosive response was out of character to say the least. Maybe it was his need for sleep. Maybe it was fear for Tim's life finally reaching his brain. Maybe, but no. It was the knot of fear in his gut that told him this wasn't over.

That instinct that told him there was still considerable danger. Not all the cards were visible. Something was amiss, something was wrong. The nagging sensation at the back of his brain was insistent, and getting more so with each passing second.

"Will he be okay?," Superboy asked the obvious.

"I don't know that," Nightwing replied, turning and stalking out of the lab.

"Who did it?," Superboy made the assumption that someone must have.

"It doesn't matter," Nightwing told him "it's already taken care of,"

"What happened?,"

"He took a bullet to the gut," Nightwing snapped "a damn bullet!. Of all things, a bullet from a gun!,"

Superboy understood that something about that fact had Nightwing worked into a frenzy, but the reason escaped him. He decided it would be safer not to ask.

"Let me know if he's okay," Superboy called after Nightwing, who disappeared through the boom tube in a blaze of light.

He couldn't remember ever seeing Nightwing like that. Almost beside himself with emotion. It wasn't Nightwing's style at all. Or maybe, thought Superboy, he didn't know Nightwing as well as he thought.

* * *

One thing about having a rich and famous legal guardian, people tend to recognize you on sight. Which meant Dick didn't have to spend a lot of time trying to explain why his last name, Tim's last name and Bruce's last name were all different.

The nurse tried to explain that Tim was not conscious, that he wouldn't even know Dick was there. She also tried to explain that Tim was hanging on by little more than a thread. Dick didn't care about any of that. He had to see his brother, and nobody was going to stand in his way.

Fortunately for the nurse, she recognized this fact before things got messy.

Dick was left alone in the hospital room with his brother and a bunch of machinery which he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was for.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't sure if he was talking to Tim, himself, the wall or maybe God.

Maybe it didn't matter. Being sorry didn't change what had happened. He couldn't go back in time and take a different path, wouldn't have even if it were possible. Things like that always had unexpected consequences, often worse than the ones you went back to try and change.

Being sorry also wouldn't erase the mistake, wouldn't ensure that it would never happen again, wouldn't change who he was or what he'd decided to do. He wondered if he'd been normal, without the mask, would that have made anything different?. Would it have saved Jason?. Would it have prevented this from happening to Tim?.

Maybe the world was better off without Nightwing.

Maybe... Dick sank down in a chair, bewildered by all the what ifs that were suddenly flying his way. Things he had never doubted, actions he'd never questioned. Now they flew like accusations. The feelings he couldn't have, even when Wally died... now they arrived, all at once.

He realized it was because there was something unique in what happened to Tim, something which set him apart from the others. It hadn't been the hero who'd been hurt. It had been the boy, barely a teenager, killed for nothing more valuable than a few pounds of white powder.

He shook his head. Tim wasn't dead. He wasn't going to die. There was no evidence that he was going to die. No evidence except for the sick feeling in the pit of Dick's stomach. That early warning system telling him things were about to get worse. Much worse.

Though at the moment, he couldn't see how anything could get worse than it already was.


	7. Chapter 6 - Cool Down

Bruce arrived at the hospital later than he'd hoped. He'd gotten out of the board meeting early, citing personal emergency. For once, it was true and required no lie to make it sound good. But traffic was heavier than usual, what should have been a twenty minute drive took nearly an hour.

"They're both sleeping," the nurse at the desk said.

At first this confused Bruce, but it all made sense when he entered the room. Tim was in the bed, pale with an IV winding its way to his arm. Dick was in the chair next to the bed, clearly asleep despite the awkwardness of the position he was in.

Bruce felt a profound sense of relief on seeing both his boys alive and more or less well.

He was struck by a memory of the first time he'd seen Dick. Back then Dick's parents had still been alive. The family bond, one Bruce had lost so early in life, struck a chord with him then as it had not before or since. The deep, open affection the family shared and their unhesitating, unflinching trust of one another on the high wire was breathtaking.

He remembered the first thought he'd had upon seeing Dick. A wholly irrational thought which he still didn't entirely understand the origin of. _I want one_. Almost as if he were looking at a puppy or a t-shirt. It didn't make any sense at the time, and still didn't.

It made even less sense that, just a short time later, he'd gotten exactly what he wished for. Under tragic circumstances, certainly, and he wouldn't have wished any of the sorrow on Dick. But he also wouldn't have traded their time together for anything.

He hadn't seen his birth, nor had he heard his first word or held his first lost tooth, but for all intents and purposes, Dick Grayson had become his son. As it had turned out, Dick was just the first. Bruce seemed to attract stray kids with acrobatic tendencies.

Some days he was sorry that the heroic lifestyle was all he could offer to his kids. It was all he knew. But other times, such as when they completed a mission successfully, or proved capable of taking care of themselves in a fight... when they tracked a villain or defeated a criminal much bigger and stronger than themselves, he couldn't help but feel that it was right somehow. That they were exactly who they were meant to be, and right where they should be.

He was still upset about what Dick and Tim had done, the stupidity that they'd shown. But he knew they would learn from it, and would not make the same mistakes again. Even though the doctor had given no assurances, something told Bruce that Tim would survive, and that it wouldn't be long before the boy was once again doing what he did best.

Bruce wasn't much for happy thoughts or smiling, but a small smile was brought to his lips now. The danger had passed for now. They had survived another day, which was all he could ever ask for. They were together and in one piece more or less, and there was the promise of another fight ahead without the confirmation of what it would be like.

Deciding he wanted the moment to remain as it was, Bruce quietly left the room. If he stayed, one or the other of the boys would eventually wake up, and words might pass between them which would taint the memory with bitterness.

* * *

_Watchtower_

It hadn't taken long for word to spread. Not only did the information spread by word of mouth, it also made the news that some teenager had shot the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne only to turn himself in shortly thereafter, admitting to not only that crime but several others.

What the news report didn't clear up was whether or not Tim was going to be okay. Several people tried to call Bruce and Dick, but Superboy was not among them. He knew Nightwing would call when or if there was any change in the situation.

"What I wouldn't give to be the one who caught that guy," Kid Flash commented.

"That makes two of us," Blue Beetle agreed.

Superboy said nothing. He was pretty sure Nightwing had something to do with it. Nightwing's choice of words "it's already taken care of" did more than just imply it. It was so very like him to get the guy to turn himself in. Almost anyone else in that situation would have torn him in two, and then regretted it in the morning. But that wasn't Nightwing's style.

It was probably just as well, he supposed. Though he couldn't help but wonder about the number of villains who escaped or were released for good behavior who went right back to doing what they'd been doing before, he knew that it was important that they recognize the difference between justice and revenge. Those of them who lived for vengeance were soon lost, and often became just as dangerous as the people they supposedly fought against.

* * *

_Batcave_

"Nightwing,"

The surprised tone in Batman's voice brought a small smile to Nightwing's face. He looked up from what he was doing and over at his former mentor.

"'Evening, Batman," He said quietly.

"I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd still be with Tim,"

"Come on, you didn't really think I'd let you patrol the city on your own,"

"I work alone most of the time," Batman retorted.

"No, you usually have Robin or Batgirl with you. And have for years. Admit it, you're used to having the company,"

"I don't need help to do my job," Batman growled irritably.

"I didn't say you did," Nightwing shot back "all I said was you could use the company. Especially right now. Don't tell me you don't feel it,"

Batman and Nightwing stared at each other silently for a time, as if measuring one another. It was something they had done many times over the years. Nightwing wasn't even sure what they were looking for in each other's eyes. He knew he'd recognize it when he saw it, but he would never have a name for it and so would never be able to say for sure what he was looking for.

"There's trouble on the wind," Nightwing said finally, breaking the silence.

He didn't add that both of them were tense as all get out after recent events. They needed to blow off steam, but they also needed someone to check them so that they didn't cross the extremely thin line between violent and vicious.

"Yes," Batman agreed, the word confirming both what was and was not said.

Another look passed between them. This look set the tone for the night. There probably wouldn't be any more words said about what happened. If there were, it certainly wouldn't be tonight. Maybe tomorrow, but probably not.

Though they weren't psychic by any stretch of the imagination, there were so many shared experiences, so much common ground between them, such similarity in their ways of thinking and acting that words rarely had to pass between them.

As if on some silent signal, both turned toward the batmobile to start the night patrol.

* * *

_Saturday_

_Streets of Gotham_

"I guess we should call it a night," Nightwing suggested "considering that sunrise is less than an hour off,"

Things had been unusually quiet on the streets, as if the criminal element had some kind of knowledge about the mood of their city's vigilantes and knew better than to try anything tonight. There had been a burglary somewhere around midnight, but most of the night had been spent cruising, looking for trouble where there was apparently none.

Batman didn't answer, but did turn the batmobile towards home. Not in a straight line, of course. They meandered up and down a few unnecessary streets, just on the off chance that they would see something. They both automatically looked towards the sky, searching for the bat signal, but of it there was no sign. They pulled into the batcave without incident.

"Best get some sleep," Bruce said, pulling back his mask "We have a party to attend this evening,"

"We?," Nightwing asked.

"Lex Luthor is having a party," Bruce spoke as though that explained everything "Tim would have been going with me. You said I needed company,"

Nightwing nodded thoughtfully. Luthor had been quiet for a time, but neither Bruce nor Nightwing believed that ordeal was entirely over. Yes, Nightwing would go, as back up in case something happened.

"You'd drag Tim to one of those things?," he asked "the only teenager in a roomful of people none of whom are younger than thirty?. That's cruel and unusual punishment,"

"It's part of the life," Bruce commented.

"Suits and ties," Nightwing shuddered, then smiled to let Bruce know he was exaggerating, if only slightly.

Tim had been spared some of the 'education' Dick had gotten, mostly because Dick still went to a number of events with Bruce, but also because they had extensively discussed his absolute loathing for the formal aspects of being Bruce Wayne's son.

On the other hand, sometimes Dick suspected he had learned to be cool under pressure at formal parties more than he ever had as Robin. Especially when the media was invited and came asking questions about Bruce. There was nothing in this world more ruthless and merciless than a report who'd once gotten a whiff of something newsworthy. One had to be guarded and try to find a way to get rid of the reporter without being rude enough to make the news one's self.

"Is the press invited?," Dick asked, putting his mask away for the night.

"Probably," Bruce replied, his voice a low growl.

"Lovely,"


	8. Chapter 7 - The Party

_Wayne Manor_

Dick awoke feeling even more uneasy than before. Had it been anyone but Bruce, he would have suggested that they stay home for the night. But you didn't tell Bruce anything, he always knew best. Sometimes Dick found that maddening, but more often he felt comforted by it.

Whatever the rules for the Justice League were, in Dick's mind Bruce was always their leader. He was also Dick's father, the ruler of the household. Lately, Dick had felt a bit confined by that, having grown accustomed to leading his own team. Sometimes he even resented Bruce's unwavering authority on all matters. But it was also comforting to know he was so confident and so unyielding.

One of the very few constants in Dick's universe, one of the only things which never changed, which he could never alter no matter what. Bruce could take care of himself. One of the few people Dick would trust to do such a thing. He had proven his near-invincibility a hundred times over. Dick had needed that proof desperately after he lost his family, his whole world.

Now Tim needed that same dependability from Bruce and Dick as well. Proof that there were people in the world who would not change, would not betray him and would not fail him.

Dick had, of course, grown out of the fantasy of Bruce's immortality long ago. But he had needed the illusion for awhile, so he could put to rights his shattered life.

The sense of unease had grown to a tense wariness, alertness of his surroundings which normally came only in times of danger. He tried to shake it off, even though he knew better. Bruce felt it too, had said as much. They had no way of knowing what the danger was or when and how it would present itself, but it would be soon.

Dick took a deep breath. Bruce had always told him that he couldn't live in fear. Fear opened the door to many things much worse than death. Dick knew this. Knew that it was better to face the danger calmly, rationally, than to panic and stay hiding in a corner at home.

Unfortunately, knowing that didn't make him feel any better.

Coming down the stairs, Dick caught sight of Bruce. Their eyes locked, and the awareness of danger passed between them, requiring no words to express what both felt. Neither was showing their fear, but both knew the other was feeling it. They knew each other well.

"Better get going," Dick said unnecessarily "don't want to be late,"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Neither of them would mind being late to this party in particular. Not only that, it probably wouldn't make any difference. Men like Bruce Wayne arrived precisely when they felt like it and nobody said anything about it, at least not openly.

They went to the limo, where Alfred was waiting, getting in the back while he took the front seat. No matter how they felt about him, he was still the butler, and prided himself on doing things that butlers were naturally expected to do.

"Think he'll try to buy his way into Gotham again?," Dick asked.

Luthor had attempted to purchase Wayne Enterprises before, in order to expand his own business and become richer and more powerful for it. Bruce had, of course, refused to sell. There had been palpable animosity between the two men since, cleverly hidden from the media by fake smiles, lengthy handshakes and shallow words.

Supposedly Bruce knew nothing of Luthor's more sinister activities. Batman did, but Bruce did not. Besides, both Luthor and Bruce were players of the public, though on different sides. Appearances were important. More than once, Bruce's standing in Gotham had given Batman an advantage. It was worthwhile to continue pretending to care what the social world was up to. Especially when it came to Luthor.

Parties of the rich and famous were not like your typical get together. People who'd never even met the host came, and people who detested one another faked pleasantries and exchanged gossip over expensive cocktails, but never indulging so much that they would say or do anything disgraceful.

The dates of those rich people were dressed in their finest, always looking awkward and uneasy as they realized they were vastly outclassed income-wise. Dick had once been one of those uncomfortable people who stood in the corner and eyed the crowd like a deer caught in the headlights.

He now maintained his distance out of dislike of the atmosphere. He could move in the circles as well as anyone now. He knew just what to say to encourage people to talk, as well as to get them to go away without making a scene over it. He knew just how to smile and move, playing the part of Bruce's beloved adopted son and probable heir to the Wayne fortune as well as the company.

"It's been a long time, Dick,"

The familiar voice of the reporter made him cringe inwardly. Marla Stoker was determined, but not especially bright. She had an obsession with Bruce Wayne that wouldn't quit, to the point that she had once attempted to stalk him. Since she was no longer allowed anywhere near Bruce, she had been reduced to chasing Dick around at parties. He had come to loath the sight of her.

She was a beautiful woman, of course. All the people allowed to these parties were. Her thick hair was waved slightly and curled about her shoulders like a golden shroud. Her dress reminded Dick of a snap dragon, and was a dark forest green. Glittering jewelry hung about her neck and her hands were covered to the elbow by velvet gloves.

"Has it?," Dick asked politely "I suppose I have been rather busy,"

"With college?," it was an assumption, an inaccurate one at that.

"Something like that,"

"Oh, and where are you going to school?," she feigned interest in him, trying to get him to be more open so she could dive in and get information about Bruce, her real interest.

"Now if I told you," Dick replied slowly, carefully choosing his words "it might make the news. Then a hundred reporters would flock around to watch, and I'd never get a decent education. You want me to be educated, don't you, Miss Stoker?,"

"Of course," Stoker's smile became more plastic as she realized she was getting nowhere.

Dick looked past her to see that Bruce and Luthor were commencing a quiet discussion, retreating to Luthor's office. This made Dick nervous for some reason.

"Looking for a girl?," Stoker guessed, glancing around to try and find a young beauty who might be his date and perhaps more open than he was being.

"Not tonight," Dick told her.

"Oh, flying solo are we?," she purred with obvious delight.

No girl meant no polite way to excuse himself from the conversation in order to entertain his date. One of the reasons Dick had made it a point to bring a girl with him to virtually every party since he was fifteen. Usually Barbara, even though they had never really been 'together'. She was safest, because she was as cagey as he was, perfectly aware of the situation.

It also kept him from having to explain any new girlfriend if he always brought the same one, and Barbara was usually available.

"You're not my type," Dick told her, refraining from saying she was too old for him, as that would have been considered rude and possibly worth mentioning in an article if nothing else exciting happened at the party.

Stoker's green eyes flashed angrily. Perhaps the camera couldn't catch the veiled insult, but she was experienced enough to know when she was being insulted. She and Dick had been playing this game for a few years now, and he had gotten to be quite the pro at it.

Again looking past Stoker, something the camera wouldn't be able to properly capture, he caught sight of another reporting team, one which he wished was talking to him instead of Stoker. Lois Lane and Clark Kent. They were still reporters, but at least they weren't Stoker.

"I suppose you only date red heads," Stoker said this with a smile but a tone of acid.

"Actually, it's more of a social circle thing," it was the only safe insult.

Stoker could retaliate, but not without embarrassing herself. She could imply that Dick was lower class, being from a circus family, but that would be an open attack on a mere boy. It would not reflect well on her if she said that.

"I only date people of my own class," Dick clarified when Stoker hesitated to answer.

It was true, though not in the way she suspected. He was also baiting her. Barbara Gordon was certainly not of the same affluent class as Dick had been adopted into, and wouldn't normally run in his circles if not for her father being the police commissioner of Gotham. But she was also of what Stoker undoubtedly considered a higher class than circus people.

What she didn't know, would never know, was that Dick was talking about an entirely different class. He had found it too difficult to try and carry on relationships with girls who didn't also wear masks, who didn't also moonlight as superheroes. They not only didn't understand him, they really had nothing in common and so very little to talk about.

Stoker looked around and pretended to see someone more important to talk to than Dick. He breathed a sigh of relief as she galloped off, her cameraman in tow. He was not in the mood for verbal combat tonight. He wanted to hit something, to lash out at whatever was causing his growing case of nerves, but there had so far been nothing to strike out at other than Stoker, which would not have reflected well on him or Bruce for that matter.

Dick wondered if Clark Kent felt the same unease. He knew, of course, who Clark Kent really was, just as Clark knew his true identity, and Bruce's as well.

Clark didn't look uneasy, but Dick wasn't able to read him as easily as he did Bruce. Speaking of... Dick looked around and saw that Bruce was rejoining the party. Dick drifted over to him casually.

"Lemme guess, he tried to buy Wayne Enterprises again?,"

"Not this time," Bruce said "this time he just wanted to build a tower next to Wayne Tower. He wants into Gotham. I'm not sure why he wants it so badly,"

Dick thought about that. Gotham was certainly no Metropolis. It was kind of like the unwashed cousin of Metropolis. It was a big city, of course, and famous in its own right, but it was not the shining city of Metropolis by any stretch of the imagination.

And why now?. Did it have something to do with Luthor's most recent sinister scheme?.

Why he wanted Wayne Enterprises was obvious enough. The company was enormously successful and Luthor could easily double the profit he made now if he owned it, rocketing him to being the single richest man in the world. A scary thought.

Luthor didn't really need more money to accomplish his goals, but his massive ego undoubtedly delighted in the thought of being the richest man in the world, and owning two of the biggest cities in America. Neighboring cities at that. The power and fame that went along with that was tremendous.

And maybe he just wanted to build a tower as a first step. A political signpost marking Gotham as his territory even though it was mostly owned by Wayne Enterprises.

Dick opened his mouth to speak this theory, but never began the sentence as at that very moment an explosion boomed. Instinctively, Dick looked up, just in time to see the ceiling cracking. Support beams groaned and plaster began to crumble, raining down on the party guests. Several people screamed and the room degenerated into total chaos as everyone fled in different directions, seeming to forget where the exits were located.

"Come on!," Dick grabbed the nearest person to him and propelled them towards the closest exit.

The air became choked with dust in seconds, and Dick found himself unable to see properly. The air was split by the shrieks of terror of those who had less control of themselves than he did.

He managed to fling his companion in the direction of the exit, scanning the room for signs of an unseen enemy. Not finding one, he instead found himself next to Stoker.

Her dress was torn in a few places and there was blood on her head.

Without thinking, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her towards the exit. She hit him in her panic, but he ignored her. He'd lost track of Bruce, but that didn't bother him now. What did bother him was the source of the explosion.

Who had done this?. And why?.


	9. Chapter 8 - Without Warning

It took a full five minutes to clear the building. Only then did Dick set foot outside. Coughing and choking on dust, coated by it so thoroughly that his black tux looked white, he turned to look at the building which was still standing and didn't even appear to be on fire.

"What the hell?," he wondered aloud to himself.

"Where's Bruce?," Superman's voice beside him startled him until he remembered that Clark Kent was here, taking a quick look, he noticed the glasses and realized that Kent hadn't shed his alter ego either.

There hadn't been any good reason. No villain to fight, and the building was coming down at a leisurely pace, apparently there was no imminent danger.

Dick looked around quickly and realized two people were missing. Bruce and Luthor.

"They're still inside," Dick realized.

Clark looked at the building severely for a few seconds.

"There are three other bombs," he said "and they will take this place down. You find Bruce, I'll get Luthor,"

Dick nodded. He had no idea how long it would be before the building went, but he also didn't care. If Bruce was still in there, it must be for a reason.

On entering the building, he was once again drowned in white powder. Stumbling through it, coughing and calling Bruce's name, he suddenly had an overwhelming feeling of foreboding. This was where the danger had lain in wait. They'd walked right into it. He had to find Bruce, and fast.

He spent precious seconds looking for the stairs, sure that Bruce had to be on the second floor or he would have seen him. Locating them, he struggled up them. Debris was falling more heavily now, to the point of being actually dangerous.

He should have realized sooner that the building wasn't caving in. He should be with Bruce, who had undoubtedly realized it almost at once.

The second floor revealed only empty rooms. Room after blindingly dusty room revealed itself, but none contained Bruce. Another explosion rocked the building. A large chunk of the ceiling caved and Dick rolled just in time to avoid it. Another piece fell immediately after, landing on him. This was smaller and he wasn't greatly hurt by it.

The air was unbreatheable now. He staggered into the hallway trying to find clearer air so he could get his breath. That did it. Bruce was not up here. He had to be downstairs, probably out of the building by now. This had become dangerous and it was time to leave.

As he reached the head of the staircase, Dick finally caught sight of Bruce. Standing in the middle of the room, he looked as though he was waiting for something.

"Bruce!," Dick felt both relieved and alarmed.

There was only one reason Bruce would still be in the building. He must be looking for Dick himself. He should have stayed outside and waited there. He'd let his own emotions cloud his judgment. Bruce could take care of himself, he knew that. He'd just forgotten for a moment.

Another explosion threw down huge clouds of building, chunks of it fell. When the dust cleared, Dick saw that the stairs had been mostly blocked. It didn't matter. He could get down just as easily. He moved to the railing around the upper floor and looked down, judging the distance carefully. Leaping from the second floor to the first took almost no time. He hit the floor and rolled, and was startled to find that Bruce was still in the same spot.

The final explosion rocked the earth. Alarmed, Dick looked up to see that the whole place was coming down. Bruce moved for the first time, towards Dick. Dick yelled at him to get out, knowing he would go ignored. He started to go towards Bruce, but falling debris knocked him down, and then pinned him. Dust rose in a thick cloud, for a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, and couldn't hear over the roar of the structure caving in around him.

For a moment the curtain of dust and debris parted, and Dick could see Bruce across the room. Their eyes locked, and then the unthinkable. Unbelievably, as if out of some bad dream, the ceiling above Bruce collapsed in what seemed to be slow motion. Bruce looked up, realizing too late that the sky was falling in on him.

"No!," Dick's frantic cry was cut off by the choking smoke and dust.

The horrible crashing of the building falling in around him deafened Dick, the smoke from now present fires and thick choking dust blinded him. Ignoring this, he fought with the debris which pinned him, struggling to free himself. He didn't even feel it when a twisted piece of steel dug into his thigh as he finally tore loose. Crawling the few feet to Bruce, Dick felt blindly for his mentor and located a hand.

There was no pulse.

Dick didn't believe it until he could finally make out Bruce's face through the smoke. Then it hit him with crushing force. Bruce was dead.

An inarticulate, agonized cry was torn from him as his world once again fell to pieces around him. Not this. Anything but this. Choking on his own sorrow, he fell silent, still crying out on the inside but unable to continue making a sound. He didn't notice the blood seeping from the wound in his leg, the agony of shock wiping away all other feeling.

Pain closed around him, and he couldn't seem to take in a breath. He didn't want to move, didn't even try to. In a single moment, his entire life had been destroyed, just as it had been years before. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, least of all in this way.

His body wracked itself with sobs, trembling as he tried in vain to contain, control or even come to some understanding of what had just happened. His worst nightmare, a reality laid out right in front of him. He was no longer aware of the building falling in around him, or the deadly smoke filling his lungs. He didn't notice it, and didn't care.

He didn't care about anything.

There was no logic to this, no reason, no explanation. No evil to fight, no justice. For all he knew, the bombs could have been set by pranksters who never meant for anyone to get hurt. What other explanation was there for the fact that the building wasn't collapsing until now?.

He shut down. There was no reason. He couldn't think where to go from here. Didn't _want_ to go anywhere from here. Not alone. Not without Bruce. The rest of the world be damned, all damned to hell. His mentor, his friend, his father, was dead.

His phone rang.

It was a shrill, irrelevant sound in this chaos. But instinctively he opened it. He didn't even think about it, just did it. There was a voice on the line, which he only dimly recognized as Barbara. Vaguely he recalled that she was taking her turn staying with Tim at the hospital. She said the right words then, perhaps the only words that could awaken Dick from the nightmare.

"Tim's awake,"

* * *

_**A/N: Tomorrow's upload will be the epilogue, followed shortly by the prologue for Re part 7 - Resurrection.**_


	10. Epilogue

_Two Weeks Later..._

"Tim Drake. There's one face I never expected to see again," Darren said, genuinely surprised.

"I had to visit, at least once," Tim said, sliding cautiously into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Darren.

"I never meant to hurt you. Not really," Darren said "but I guess that's no excuse,"

"It's not," Tim replied "but it's okay, because I know you've learned what you needed to,"

"Really?. What was that?,"

"Not to do it again," Tim smiled crookedly, but there was a wounded look in his eyes, fresh loss clouding his young features and making him old before his time.

"I heard about Mr. Wayne," Darren said uncomfortably "I'm sorry,"

Tim closed his eyes briefly, covering up a world of hurt much deeper and more painful than any Darren had ever felt in his life. It made Darren feel much smaller. He had thought of himself as troubled, as if his life wasn't fair. But now he knew what unfairness was.

And that was Tim's life. Robbed of his family when he was young, now torn from his adoptive father while he was still just a kid. And more than that had been taken. Gotham had lost its greatest hero, and probably didn't even know it yet.

"Gotham won't be the same without Batman," Darren whispered quietly.

Tim shook his head, then opened his eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

"Batman isn't dead," Tim told him "Bruce Wayne is,"

"What do you mean?," Darren asked.

But just then the television behind Tim began to play a video clip from the night before. Unmistakably, the Caped Crusader was seen doing battle with a number of petty crooks. Darren stared at the screen for a long moment before it finally dawned on him.

Gotham had a new Batman.

* * *

_Watchtower_

"I'm going on the record saying I don't like this," Superboy commented.

Batman, the new, very different bat, turned and looked at him, eyes cold. The look said that Superboy didn't have to like it, that Batman didn't care one way or the other how he felt about it.

"Gotham needs Batman," he said softly "it never needed Nightwing, he was just... surplus,"

"Will you be joining the Justice League?," Kaldur asked.

"Only for appearances' sake. But no. The real Batman might have been a member of the Justice League, but I can never be. I also won't be able to run the team efficiently, at least not for the time being. Kaldur-,"

"Yes," Kaldur didn't let him finish "until you are ready to return,"

There was a soft, grateful look in this new Batman's eyes as he looked at Kaldur, which would never have been seen in the eyes of the original.

"Maybe I should leave the team for awhile," Batgirl suggested "give you a hand,"

"I already have a sidekick," Batman said, looking at the boy who stood at his right.

Robin looked up at him out of adoring eyes which could only belong to a boy looking at his older brother, a mixture of awe and respect that basically said 'I want to be just like you'.

"With the two of us absent from the team," Batman said to Batgirl "you will be needed here more than ever," he and Robin turned towards the boom tube, perfectly in sync, then Batman looked back briefly at what he was leaving behind "if you ever need us, just call," he looked at Superboy significantly and added "game on,"

Then they were gone. The sons of Batman, continuing the legend, going on with the work, the never ending mission and hunt. The legacy of Batman lived on.

* * *

**A/N: The author wants to thank all their readers and reviewers for their interest in the story. The author hopes you all enjoyed it and will continue to stick around for part 5. Thank you kindly.**


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